


Between Mysteries

by Bobsled_Hostage



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Prostitution, survival sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 05:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21265808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobsled_Hostage/pseuds/Bobsled_Hostage
Summary: Velma's detective skills are less valuable between mysteries than some... other talents she picked up along the way. As much as she wishes someone else could take one for the team.





	Between Mysteries

Giving head for gas money was like playing keeper for a rec soccer team. It was an unpleasant job, and the better you got at it, the more excuse everyone else had to make you do it again.

Daphne always had some excuse, Fred wouldn’t even think about it, and nobody was paying to feel Shaggy’s fuzzy chin tickle their balls. So whenever the gang was “between mysteries”, Velma was the one who got to climb into some trucker’s rig, or crouch furtively behind some unassuming motorist’s wheel arch and suck his greasy dick. It was that hard experience that helped her manage the parade of rough, hairy men who never felt like letting her set her own pace. Not that she’d take any longer than she had to, but that made having her mouth fucked doubly unnecessary, as well as humiliating. Some men fantasize about viciously degrading the prom queen. Others wish they could take out their frustrations on the pudgy, bookish practice girl who sat in the front row. Velma was a little more worldly than that, but all the same, she always seemed to get the latter rather than the former.

Sometimes, they let her throat them and swallow, which was the cleanest way to do things. But most of the time, they wanted to jizz on her face. Or on her glasses, when the guy made her keep them on. Or worst of all, in her hair. At truck stops she could at least grab a hot shower. At gas stations, she had to wipe down as best she could in the parking lot, then furtively slip into the bathroom, hoping the clerk didn’t notice any gooey ropes still clinging to her bob. Or worse yet, demand she buy something before washing up. The gang would complain that the wad of bills was slightly smaller than expected, and sometimes she’d snap that if they weren’t happy they could go suck another twenty out of the next guy who came through. But most of the time, she’d just climb back into the mystery machine, thighs and ass still burning from squatting, jaw still aching from sucking. She’d spit out the window as they pulled out onto the highway.

Fucking Scooby was worse. It was messy, degrading, physically uncomfortable at best and painful at worst, but it had to be done. Take everything nasty about a dog in heat, and add intelligence and the power of speech. He was an absolute terror until someone took one for the team and calmed him down, and that someone was Velma. Daphne was too much of a stuck up bitch, and neither of the boys were going to do it.

There was a mattress in the back of the Mystery Machine. Velma kicked the gang out of the van, made sure they weren’t watching (sort of. more on that in a bit) and got ready for dog cock. She’d strip completely naked, because she didn’t want sweat, drool or dog jizz all over her clothes. She’d lie face down on her knees and arch her back, raising her fat ass, because she didn’t want Scooby to put his paws on her shoulders and force her down, dull claws digging into her skin. Then she’d reach between her legs and spread her lips, because that was the only way the knot would make it into her without bruising.

The knot, the knot was the fucking worst. It meant she couldn’t just lie face down and take it. Scooby would pump his hips and she, not wanting to be dragged by the swollen bulb in her cunt, would have to move with him. She’d grunt and fist the mattress and he’d send ripples through her soft, heavy body. At least he kept his mouth shut when he fucked her. If he called her “bitch” and “cunt” like some of the guys she blew, she’d have pulled the flicknife out of her purse and neutered him right there. Hell, she almost stabbed shaggy the first time she caught him jerking off in the front seat. She’d reached for the blade and been stopped short by the knot, yanking Scooby forward onto her. He pinned her and kept humping while she screamed at Shaggy to get the fuck out and he yelled at her to like, chill out, man. Now when she caught him watching, she just fumed quietly while he pretended to pretend not to watch.

(Fred and Daphne sometimes watched. Just enough to get Fred in the mood, then he’d take her by the arm and yank her out of the Mystery Machine. Get a finger down her tights and into her asshole. Followed by his dick. Thinking about that made Velma happy. She wasn’t the only one being bent over and forced open by a dumb animal. That cunt Daphne was getting hers too)

The knot didn’t just go away after Scooby seeded her. They stayed stuck together until his dick returned to its usual proportions and he could withdraw. She’d lie there, wheezing and pink, regaining as much composure as she could with a talking dog still mounting her. Sometimes he’d get hungry and rummage for food, yanking her and forcing her to scoot after him or have her labia stretched painfully by the knot. Sometimes he said he was sorry, but if that was true he’d stop fucking doing it. If she was lucky, he’d slip out of her before Fred came back, Daphne limping after.

Compared to sponging dog cum out of her vagina on a mattress in the back of a filthy van, with running water nowhere to be found, rinsing trucker semen out of her hair was more like playing striker, or forward.


End file.
